


Dreams in Stone

by Nightmist



Series: Errata, Marginalia, Palimpsest [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: AND CETHYS, And Lumi, Clown Car, Dubious feelings, Everyone is bi here, F/M, Fantasizing, I Blame Nautilus, I also blame Hawksong, I blame the whole damn clown car, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Shameless Smut, Smut, Voyeurism, You too Blue, emotionally unhealthy fantasies, honk honk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28011636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightmist/pseuds/Nightmist
Summary: Shameless solo wank fic, G'raha Tia is back at the Rising Stones and can't sleep. And we all know what helps you sleep, right?Complicated feelings and attractions because look, we don't thinkpurethings when touching ourselves, do we?
Relationships: Aymeric de Borel/Warrior of Light, G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch, Urianger Augurelt/G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch
Series: Errata, Marginalia, Palimpsest [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666165
Comments: 23
Kudos: 41





	Dreams in Stone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thepapernautilus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepapernautilus/gifts).



> Nautilus said if I let G'raha nut it'd make writing other projects easier. I am nothing if not a gremlin so obviously I have to put this to the test.
> 
> Really I blame the whole clown car. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. Anyway, consider it a tiny hint and preview of what I mean to work on someday (tm).

It should be easy to sleep, here in the Rising Stones. The climate here is not entirely removed from the familiar comforts of Lakeland, despite the occasional aether storm. Cool, damp. It should be exactly what would encourage one to wrap themselves in clean sheets and soft blankets and sleep deeply.

Instead, near every night, he tosses and turns, inexplicably restless.

There is an easy solution, a way to call lassitude to his bones and quiet to his mind, if an uneasy one. He just feels guilty to use it. Were he still a youth at the Studium, perhaps the simple sensation of his hand on himself would be enough, friction, wringing, spending, with no need for the messy interference of heart or mind.

His body is young again, but not that young.

Kicking off his sleep pants, frustrated with her tangle and rub against his legs, G’raha presses his head down into his pillow, russet sunset flare of hair around his head, and stretches himself across the length of his bed. Idly he draws one hand across his chest, circling the dusky disk of nipples. A flick of fingertips draws them small, stiff points, toying still as he tries to let his mind wander.

Not the old, easy fantasies, hair like iris petals and lilac lips, pearly skin and his mind struggling to conjure what her voice would have sounded like saying his name. His personal name, not the formal G’raha, but like he never did, the breathy exhalation of _Raha_ against his ear when she clenched around him. Pointless. A poison he should purge from his system.

Casting his mind about for other options, he settles first on a glimpse he had this morning, Urianger’s arms flexing as he poured tea. The elezen did have beautiful arms, glorious, tanned skin, those long, elegant fingers…

He thinks he might not mind feeling Urianger’s fingers on him. His touch would be light, in his opinion, thoughtful, and he tries to imitate that, a hand drifting down to the find the stiffening length of his cock, thick and starting to draw up from its nest of red curls. He strokes fingers over his pubic hair, teasing indirectly, then brushes at the base of himself, draws the tip of one nail up the increasingly firm curve of his length. The touch makes him shudder, thighs lifting from the mattress a moment.

The idea of gold eyes studying draws to mind another pair, brighter in hue, duller in aspect. _Emet-Selch_. Enemy, tormenter, and yet… His hand tightens and fists around his length, drawing up and along it roughly. Being touched by him would have been a challenge, a fight, even, in its way. He imagines holding his own, shoving up the tall Garlean’s robes, drawing forth a prick no doubt as long and lean as that body, the demanding way he would have twisted his hand around it. He moves in imitation, hips twist, lift, drive him harder into the grip. Stroking back down, his thumb brushes over his crown and he pauses, mind flicking to a new image.

Her, again, the Warrior, his warrior… But not his, and now he knows too well, remember the heated kiss of reunion when Ishgard’s Lord Speaker had last visited the Rising Stones, the tender way Kohanya’s hand had curled along his jaw as she stretched onto the very tips of her toes, his tall form bowed down to meet her. The pang drives through him, even in his arousal; she had not looked at him so, and now he understands. The parts of him that self-torment, want to punish himself, take it a step further, taunt him with imagining her bared and kneeling before her noble lord, delicate hands stroking his sack, thumb teasing drops of pre as they circle the flared head of a no doubt all too generous cock.

It stings and arouses in a confusing mix, and he lets one hand gently cup and caress his testes, traces the same circles, uses his own growing drops of slick to ease the drag of his hand over the fat width of himself. The image flickers in his mind, one moment it being his shaft driving into her mouth, claiming her throat, imaging power and punishment, and in another breath, he is a helpless wretch, watching her devoutly service the other man with her body, a yet unseen third presence lurking beyond and keeping him at bay.

He is painfully hard, twitching against his own grip, but he cannot find relief in these thoughts, in his torment and attempts to kill emotions unreturned. Wildly, his mind casts out, seeking an image he can hold longer than a single heartbeat. _Y_ _’shtola, lips curled into a teasing grin, pressing him down with a hand on his shoulder. Nero, back in the tower, arrogant and brilliant, and the secret desire he always had to kiss the man until he was rendered stupid. Schoolmates, Scions, old friends, and new, a pretty girl he had seen in the markets._

Hair the gold of sun-bleached grasses, and eyes that burned like flame, an orange like a flare, like a warning, like a lure. _Brighid_. One of the newer Scions, who had not been caught in his spell, and utterly unintimidated by him. Her smoke-stung soprano, teasing him about his lingering affections, warning him before the burn of her magic came flying for him in the practice yard. One of the few new friends he has made here, so far, too alien for most to be sure how to deal with him.

She seems to have no expectations and it is a relief. If it is rude to think of his friends thus, well, at least his feelings for her are simple and pleasant, so he allows it. Rounded ears — he has never been with a hyur, and he lingers on the question of what it would be like, to nibble them, tug an earlobe with his teeth. His thumb grinds against the notch at the base of his cockhead and Raha groans loudly.

He imagines hands split in aspect like her magics, one cool and soothing, a thumb massaging a slow circle below his sack, fingers warm as her cunt would be around him, wrapped tight around his shaft, her hand barely large enough to manage. He pumps and imagines her, the way her eyes would turn all that focus and excitement on him.

In his mind’s eye, his spend splatters her face and neck, dripping down her skin in pearly drops, and crying out roughly, one last pump and circle of thumb draws a peak in reality as well. Strong enough that while most of his seed dribbles down to pool on his hand, some decorates his belly.

Panting, Raha lies back, staring at the ceiling. Drawing hands away, he gropes at his bedside table, draws out a small towel and cleans himself. Settling back into bed, as predicted, the languorous ease after climax starts to sink deeply into muscles and bones, pulling him down towards sleep. His mind is reassuringly fuzz and static, and the lingering image of the Echo-blessed mage, marked by him, and the strange thread of buzzing energy it sings through his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Wanna ride in the clown car? Come by [The Bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) and join us!
> 
> Want to bug me specifically? My various social media (an be found via [my carrd](https://nightmist.carrd.co).
> 
> Comments are always treasured and appreciated.


End file.
